It's another multiple of seven on ST-urday this week, which means it's time for another ST potpourri of demos and applications from the major coverdisk publishers of the day. Please feel free to revisit the first of the Demo Derby ST-urdays - ST-urday #007 (which really ought to have been awful James Bond licensed games, now I think about it) - to get a more in-depth explanation for what I'm doing here.
In lieu of a better system for deciding which coverdisks are worthy of exploration, I've instead opted to choose ST Action #29 and ST Format #14: each an edition of a popular Atari ST magazine to be released exactly twenty-five years ago this month (that would be September 1990, in case the site stopped tagging blogs with dates). I mean, if I can't feel old as hell while doing these, what's even the point?
Myth: History in the Making
Now, you all might be more familiar with a certain other Myth: the top-down squad-based RTS games that Bungie put out before they hit it big with Mister Chef and his Hula adventures (I don't follow those games too closely). All I remember from that Myth series is a scary guy with no shirt that turned into birds. This Myth, however, is considerably worse: a game that hops around through time and space and pits the player against various mythical beings. I remember playing this demo and enjoying the silly animations for the bad guys but, once again, not really knowing what I was supposed to be doing.
If the following game looks sorta familiar but not quite, it's because it was later rebranded as a Conan the Barbarian game and released as Conan: Mysteries of Time for the US NES. You can watch JonTron get perplexed by it here, if JonTron is something you're into. (Man, he actually figures it out quicker than I did, though he did admit to looking up a solution on the internet. Pfft, lightweight.)
ST Format
Before we begin with our second coverdisk - the ST Action coverdisk I selected only had two demos and the second of those refused to run, in case you're wondering why we're doubling up today - I should explain what ST Format was. Unlike its hyperactive rival ST Action, ST Format was the serious computer aficionado's magazine. That meant features that ran the gamut from games to development tools to utility programs, as well as columnists talking about the current status of the Atari ST as a viable platform for developers and the various art and music creation tools out there for same. It celebrated the system's games, but also its potential as a media creation center and its functionality as an office word processor or spreadsheet creator or any other program someone might require to support their livelihoods. If you've ever subscribed to or read a PC magazine, it's the same sort of deal. A lot of people took the Atari ST seriously back then.
All that said, the following screenshots should give you some idea of what sort of content the ST Format coverdisks tended to include:
Anyway, these things are invariably neat to play around with but I've never been a particularly tech-literate person who could appreciate them for their utility or their historical significance in the field of computing. I'm definitely no "Halt and Catch Fire" computer whiz (though I have been meaning to give that show a shot). Let's move onto the three game demos that were hidden in the midst of all these inscrutable applications.
Rick Dangerous
Oh jeez, Rick Dangerous. Rick Dangerous has something of a notorious reputation among those who have played it, and not just because of its silly title. One of the missing links between the obnoxiously difficult Spelunker and its modern harsh-but-fair spiritual successor Spelunky, Rick Dangerous is all about bullshit. Specifically, it's a game about a dashing WW2-era adventurer in a fedora and leather jacket (the game makes no bones about its inspirations. Or "no Jones", I should say) who has a small supply of bullets for his gun and sticks of dynamite to remove obstacles, and is frequently killed by enemies, traps and other unfortunate occurrences that the player is rarely able to predict and/or avoid in time. Its trial-and-error gameplay was considered a dealbreaker by many critics, but it has just as many proponents that enjoyed - or maybe just admired - how the game sets up this cheeky, adversarial relationship with the player. It encourages you to defeat it not because there's some fantastic gameplay to enjoy or a satisfying conclusion to work towards, but because you become so obstinate in your anger at its unfair nonsense that you try to reach its finale on spite alone. It's the type of player/game relationship that eventually matured into the "masocore" game design philosophy: the types of game like I Wanna Be The Guy or Kaizo Mario World that push all the player's buttons (rather than the usual inverse) with its sadistic and unpredictable instant-death traps. I suppose there's some serendipity here regarding how this sort of gaming experience has recently hit the zeitgeist with the horrific creations regularly being pumped out by Super Mario Maker.
Rick Dangerous and its 50s-inspired retro sci-fi sequel are the products of Core Design - the UK developer better known for their thematically similar but structurally and philosophically completely disparate Tomb Raider series. Lara Croft still sees her share of random bullshit deathtraps too, but when developing their trailblazing acrobatic action-adventure game Core Design clearly agreed with the idiom that you can catch more flies with honey. Or a fly honey, even.
Yolanda
I'm not familiar with the name Yolanda outside of that Freek-a-Leek song, but it's apparently an ancient Greek name that means "Violet". "Violent" would be more apt, because that's how this agitating game makes me feel. Like Rick Dangerous, Yolanda seems heavily invested in screwing over the player with trial-and-error level design that is only exacerbated by the game's lightning-fast speed. You have barely a moment to react before the level changes and half the platforms become engulfed in fire - including, invariably, the one you're standing on. Other platforms vanish as soon as you step on them (and that's almost always certain death) while others just appear out of the ether after a leap of faith.
The game seems to be built around the Twelve Labors of Heracles, with each stage being introduced with a wordy wall of text about killing the Nemean Lion or capturing the Cretan Bull or setting the timer on Zeus's VCR so it stops blinking "12:00" all the time. Yet the stages only go so far as to display whatever animal is the target of Heracles' wrath and tasks your tiny female avatar to get over there without being horribly murdered by the thousand deathtraps that fill the screen. It's extremely discombobulating.
Yolanda was published by our old friends Millennium - you might remember them from our twelfth ST-urday with the equally unjust and bizarre Kid Gloves - and developed by their frequent collaborators Vectordean, who also designed the James Pond series. I don't think this was one of their big hits.
Robotz
Our last game is the shareware/freeware (what we used to call Indies) top-down shooter Robotz, with a Z. I actually kinda like this game, though maybe that's coming from a place where I just played one game with controls I couldn't figure out and two that seemed designed to cause me a hate-aneurysm. Either way, it's a slightly less frantic Robotron: 2084 clone that's straightforward but challenging in the way most shareware games from this era are. I can describe the game fully with just the handful of screenshots I took.
There doesn't seem to be a lot of information on this one. The title screen suggests it was developed or published (probably both, and it's probably one guy) by a "Project X". It also has a brief backstory:
"The deep space exploration ship DARWIN 8 has been invaded by hostile alien robots. As the last surviving crew member it is your job to deal with the problem."
Whoa, slow down there, Dostoyevsky. They're aliens as well as robots? Hold onto your buttz, my friends.
With that, let's wrap up the second of our Demo Derbies. The app stuff was harder to show off than I realized, largely because I forget how to use desktop accessories (you can't exactly just drag-and-drop them on the desktop) and the text files are all formatted in a weird way with its word wrapping. Like the games, the apps tended to be a mix of teasers for professional commercial products and full freeware experimental program files that some kid in his bedroom put together to make life with the Atari ST more convenient. Like the modding communities of today, there's something irresistibly appealing about working in a group to solve some problems and create content with easily accessible tools. Well, that is if you have any proficiency or talent with all this coding stuff. Me? I just write about video games. See you next week for more of that.